


Tears Of The Saints I: A Jewel Of Great Price

by BradyGirl_12



Series: Tears Of The Saints [1]
Category: Public Enemies (2009)
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, M/M, Male Slash, Period-Typical Homophobia, Series, Slash, Slurs, The Mob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Syndicate needs the special talents of John Dillinger, they take out insurance that he will do the job they want by kidnapping someone near and dear to his heart: Melvin Purvis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Side Dish

**Author's Note:**

> Series Notes: Tears Of The Saints will deal with the Outfit/Syndicate (aka the Mob) and how they cross paths with the Dillinger Gang and the Bureau of Investigation. It helps to have first-hand knowledge of Italian culture and Catholicism. ;)  
> Original LJ Dates Of Completion: January 24, 2010-February 7, 2010  
> Original LJ Dates Of Posting: February 19, 2010-March 31, 2010  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 488 + 656 + 896 + 551 + 1012 + 800 + 735 + 804 + 928 + 526 + 689 + 1003 + 1220 + 747 (Total: 11,055)  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.  
> Author's Note: The entire series can be found [here.](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/553277.html)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gossip gets around.

_“A man can’t earn respect on his back.”_

  


**Old Sicilian Proverb**  
 **19th Century, C.E.**

“Guess what I heard about Dandy Dillinger?”

Phil D’Andrea was sitting with his boss, Frank Nitti, in a corner of _The Montmatre Club_ , drinking _cappuccinos_ and enjoying cannolis. One thing about working with his fellow Italians: the food and drink were the best.

The club was a social club for Italian and Italian-American men to come and hang out. It was filled with solid, dark furniture and dark-red velvet drapes at the windows, with an excellent kitchen and discreet staff, mostly made up of young Italian men fresh off the boat from the Old Country who could barely speak English. Opera, especially Caruso music, was usually played on the phonograph at low volume for background ambience.

Oh, and the place really made a good front for the Syndicate, too.

“What, Frank?”

“That he’s a little light in the loafers.”

“What?” Phil almost choked on his drink.

Nitti sipped his _cappuccino_. “I have it on good authority.” His gaze was sharp. “You know a lot about Dillinger. Why would he want to do such a thing, get into a man’s pants?”

Phil carefully thought out his answer. It was true that he admired John Dillinger. Phil had no illusions about himself. He was made for quiet, behind-the-scenes work, but he liked to live vicariously through Jackrabbit Johnny. 

Phil didn’t give a crap who John was fucking. It didn’t make him any less of a bank robber or a guy who knew how to charm the public.

But the Italians (mostly Sicilians) who made up the Outfit were, like most cultures, disdainful of homosexuality at best and violently hostile at worst. He was an anomaly on the subject, but kept that fact to himself for obvious reasons. 

“I don’t know, Frank. Johnny’s a maverick, so I guess he is about his personal life, too.” He shrugged. “Probably picked up the habit in prison.”

Nitti looked disgusted. “Should keep that crap in prison. He could have any broad he wanted. Why go the nancy boy route?”

Phil didn’t respond. He had given his opinion. He took a swallow of his drink.

Nitti shook his head. “No values. This Dillinger…he has talent, but no discipline. He wouldn’t last a day in the Organization.” He waved his hand, signet ring winking in the light. “We wouldn’t put up with such crap. Pfft, men born in this country lack Old World values. I got no respect for a _finnochio_.” The word was disrespectful slang for homosexual. “Though he’s probably not a _busone_.”

Phil couldn’t see Johnny as a passive recipient in a homosexual relationship, either. Despite himself, he asked, “Is he going through a bunch of guys or does he have a steady side dish?”

Nitti snorted. “That’s rich. No buffet for our Indiana dandy. Strictly side dish.”

“Anyone we know?”

Nitti’s smile was predatory. “Melvin Purvis.”


	2. Peaches 'N'...Corn?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mel and Johnny enjoy their romance.

_“A man’s far gone when he gets all swoony-eyed...and food enters the picture.”_

  


**Roger Williams**   
**American Humorist**   
**1921 C.E.**

“C’mere, G-Man.”

Johnny pulled Mel to him by his pearl-gray tie, Mel fluttering his lashes and saying in an exaggerated Southern drawl, “Why, suh, you are most bold.”

“You got it, Sunshine.”

They kissed, tongues twining, and their bodies melted together. When they finally broke apart, Johnny licked his lips.

“Man, you taste sweet, sugar.”

“I can say the same for you, Mr. Dillinger.” 

Johnny shivered with delight. He loved it when those sweet honeyed tones said his name. He nuzzled Mel’s cheek, grasping his hand, his fingers bumping against the heavy gold-topaz-and-sapphire ring he wore, his symbol of graduation from the University of South Carolina School of Law.

“You look good enough to eat.”

Mel was wearing his pearl-gray suit that looked stunning on him. The weather was chilly and he had on his black greatcoat and fedora as he prepared to depart. Johnny was in a brown vest, pants, and white shirtsleeves.

“You already had your feast, suh.”

Johnny nibbled Mel’s ear. “Maybe I want more.”

“Oh, darlin’, you are one sassy sweet talker.”

Johnny laughed. How he loved his Southern bell! “Will I see you tonight?”

Mel nodded. “I have the weekend off, barring any sightings of Public Enemy No. 1.” He winked.

Johnny grinned. “You make sure to tell Hoover you had a sighting, up-close-and-personal.”

“I will not!” Mel smiled. “What I see is not for the Director’s prurient ears.”

Johnny kissed him again. “You’re a peach, Mel. A nice, juicy, Southern peach.”

“Oh, my, sounds like Midwestern corn to me.”

“Ha!”

“See you tonight, darlin’.”

Mel slipped out of the house and into the alley, heading several blocks away to pick up a streetcar back to the Bankers’ Building.

Johnny went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was very happy with his new romance. Mel wasn’t like other men he’d known. For one thing, he was a heckuva a lot prettier than anyone he’d known in prison or in his gang. Most of the men he’d known were rough types hardened by years in prison or life on the run.

His Mel was a capable crimefighter, an expert marksman, but was sweet and gentle, certainly not the tough type like Winstead.

No, his Mel was elegant, gentlemanly, and cultured.

_What the hell is he doing with you, farmboy?_

Yep, he was one lucky bastard.

Red entered the kitchen. “Mel gone?”

Johnny nodded. Red crossed over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffeepot.

“Can you guys clear out tonight for awhile?”

Red grinned. “Sure, John. Homer wants to go to the movies, and the other fellas were hoping to visit Anna’s place over on Halstead.”

Johnny sipped his coffee. “Thanks.” He looked out the window dreamy-eyed.

Red laughed. “Man, do you have it bad, Dillinger!” He grinned as Johnny turned to look at him with a too-innocent expression. “Can’t blame ya. Your man’s one long, cool drink of water.”

“Mmm.” Johnny’s eyes twinkled. “He’s my sweet potato pie.”

Red guffawed. “Quit it! You’re makin’ me hungry.” He leaned against the counter. “You expectin’ him tonight?”

“Yeah.” Johnny began to open the cabinets. “We got any corn?”

“Yeah. Bought some canned stuff yesterday.” Red thought he heard Johnny mutter, “Midwestern corn”.

“I’d like to have it fresh, but it’s not the season.” Johnny went to the icebox. “Good, we got fresh tomatoes and lettuce. Won’t be a fancy salad, but it’ll do. And I can fry up some chicken. It’s both our favorite.”

“Johnny Dillinger cookin’? Must be love.”

Johnny smiled. “Must be.”

Red drank his coffee. He understood love that made you a sap, thinking of Homer. “You got a good thing goin’, Johnny. Enjoy it.”

“Oh, I intend to, Red. I intend to.”

Johnny’s smile was pure happiness.


	3. Opening Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Syndicate makes its move.

  
_Domestic tranquillity_   
_Sure can shatter_   
_In the wink_   
_Of an eye._   


  
****  


**Eloise McDougall**   
**“The View From**   
**My Kitchen Window”**   
**1934 C.E.**

“You wanted to see me, Frank?”

Phil entered the private room over _The Montmatre Club_. It was dominated by a mahogany conference table and leather-backed chairs, the walls painted a pale green. Good-quality paintings of Italy in old-fashioned Victorian frames were the main form of decoration. Nitti was sitting in his customary chair at the head of the table. Phil sat in the chair next to him.

“Yeah.” Nitti lit a cigar. “The State Street Bank has something I want.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a certain object that I want from one of the safe deposit boxes.”

“Yeah, so?” Phil waited to hear what the object was, but Frank obviously wasn’t going to spill the chichi beans.

“So I can’t just go in there and sign it out, now can I? It’s not in one of my safe deposit boxes under one of my aliases. No, this one has to be taken.”

“And the owner doesn’t want to fork it over?”

Nitti shook his head. “It’s better if he doesn’t know I’m interested.”

“Okay, so how do you plan to get it?”

“We’ll need someone with special talents.”

Puzzled, Phil asked, “What kind of special talents?”

“Bank robbing talents.”

“Bank robbing isn’t one of our areas of expertise, Frank.”

“So? What do we do when we have a special job? We use specialists.” Nitti took a puff on his cigar. “We got the best bank robber in America right here in town.”

“Dillinger?” Phil gasped. “He don’t work for the Outfit, Frank. He’s an independent, about as independent as one can get.” Phil scratched his head. “Besides, it’s too hot for him here in Chicago. He can’t rob a bank here.”

“I think he will.”

Phil wanted to laugh and say, “You’re crazy!” but he knew when to keep quiet. Frank didn’t mind criticism because Phil had proven to save the Outfit’s butts more than once, but a guy could only go so far with the Enforcer.

“So what’s in it for him?”

Probably some deal for guns and access to doctors that won’t cost him a fortune.

“He’ll get his nancy boy back.”

“What?”

Nitti’s smile was smug.

“Oh, no! Frank, tell me you didn’t!”

& & & & & &

Johnny hummed as he re-checked on the contents of the icebox: fresh chicken, a head of lettuce, a cucumber, tomatoes, and Idaho potatoes. He took out the potatoes to start cutting them up.

The boys were still going out tonight to Anna’s place and Red and Homer were getting ready to go to the movies. He and Mel would have the house to themselves. While he would have liked to go out on the town with his man, he knew that it was impossible. Still, he was looking forward to the time alone. 

The meal was simple, but fried chicken was a favorite of both of them. Some mashed potatoes and salad would be perfect to go with it.

He and Mel were so domestic! Johnny laughed. He never would have dreamed of such a thing.

& & & & & &

Johnny finished with the salad and went to get the chicken to start cooking when the back doorbell rang. Everyone was gone so he had to answer it.

He smiled. His Southern bell was right on time.

He picked up his gun from the hall table just in case. He couldn’t afford not to be cautious.

Checking through the side window, he was disappointed not to see Mel, but curious to see a kid with a box. Slipping his gun into the back of his waistband, he opened the door.

“Hey, kid, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mister. This is for you.”

“Yeah? Who sent it?”

The kid, around eight years old, casually chewed gun, wild red hair beneath his newsboy cap that he wore sideways on his head. 

“A mug gave me a quarter to deliver this to you.”

“A mug, huh?” Amusement danced in Johnny’s eyes. “Okay, thanks.” He handed the kid another quarter.

“Gee, thanks, Mister!”

The kid snapped his gum and ran off. Chuckling, Johnny closed the door. 

He studied the package. It seemed all right. Holding it up to his ear, he didn’t hear any ticking.

He set the box on the kitchen table. It wasn’t big or heavy. Curiosity won out and he unwrapped the brown butcher paper after untying the string.

There was a plain white envelope with his name scrawled across it. He fished out a letter opener from the drawer and slit it open. As he began to read, his insides grew cold.

& & & & & &

_We need you to do a job. Come to **The Montmatre Club** tomorrow at 10 A.M. If you have any ideas about ignoring this note, check further down in the box._

& & & & & &

**The Montmatre Club!** That was the Syndicate’s headquarters. With trepidation he pushed aside the tissue paper, afraid of what he might find.

Frowning, he saw a small black velvet box. He lifted it out and carefully opened the lid.

Gasping, he took out the object with shaking fingers.

The light winked off the topazes and sapphires of Mel’s University of South Carolina gold ring.


	4. Hostage To Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mel awakens as a hostage.

_“Some of us are just hostages to fortune.”_

  
****  
****  


**Aaron Breck**   
**American Millionaire**   
**Philanthropist**   
**1922 C.E.**

Mel came back to consciousness with a groan, his head throbbing. _What the hell?_

He slowly opened his eyes, blue-painted walls coming into view. Dark-blue.

Squinting, Mel looked around: a maple dresser, a rocking chair, a nightstand with a lamp, and the bed he was laying on. He grimaced at the lumpy mattress.

And there was something cold and heavy around his left ankle.

He sat up on his elbows, gasping as the room spun. He closed his eyes, waiting a few minutes, then cracked them open again.

Was that a _leg iron_ on his ankle?

Shocked, he tugged on the chain that tied him to the bed. What was going on?

He remembered kissing Johnny goodbye in his hide-out and slipping out the back, and then as he started to leave the alley to get to the streetcar stop, he had heard a footstep behind him. Before he could turn around, the world had gone black.

Rubbing the back of his head, he found a sizeable goose egg and winced.

Besides the sparse furnishings, there was one window with the blinds closed. He could hear traffic in the distance, so he was still in the city.

Why had he been kidnapped? As leverage against the Bureau? Surely the gangsters of this city knew better than to poke at the Bureau this way. As incompetent as his agency could be, they wouldn’t take this lying down. The public might be persuaded to back the Federal agents in this case.

He had to figure out a way to get free!

Mel tugged at the chain again and noticed his ring was missing. Thieves as well as kidnappers! That detail irritated him more than the kidnapping somehow.

He ran a hand through his hair. Well, at least he’d been the only one taken. As long as Johnny was safe, he could withstand this ordeal.

He couldn’t bear the thought of Johnny being caged up. He’d already suffered through nine years of hard time. That sentence of ten years for a fifty-dollar robbery had been an abomination. The judge who had imposed it ought to have been shot. 

Mel rubbed his forehead. The sentence should have been a few years at most. How better to form a career criminal than throwing him into prison with hardened convicts?

Heavy footsteps sounded out in the hall and Mel tensed as the door opened. A burly man with a mashed nose ambled in.

“So, you’re awake.”

“Yes. I demand to be released!” Mel was in full bluff mode, hoping that he could pull this off.

The kidnapper sneered, “You don’t get to make demands, Nancy.”

“My name is Melvin Purvis, and I am an agent of…”

“I know who you are. That don’t mean jacksquat here. You just shut your mouth and look _pretty.”_

Mel stared at the man, his insides shivering at the way the word ‘pretty’ had been spoken. What the hell was going on?

“Why am I here? Why…?”

Mel gasped as he was hit across the face. His headache roared as his eye throbbed.

“Shut up means _shut up_ , Tinkerbell.”

The man laughed and left, Mel covering his eye.

_I am in **deep** trouble!_


	5. "Do We Have A Deal, Mr. Dillinger?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny meets with Frank Nitti.

_“Doing business with the Syndicate means always having eyes in the back of your head.”_

  


**“Irish Eddie” O’Coyle**   
**Reputed Gangster**   
**1922 C.E.**

Johnny looked up at the sign over the ornate doorway, **The Montmatre Club** scrawled in fancy letters on the board. He was dressed as sharply as possible in a pinstriped suit and his black greatcoat and fedora, Red and Homer flanking him. He doubted bringing more men would be a good idea. He suppressed a shiver as a cold gust of wind roared down the street, just barely grabbing his fedora before it blew off from his head.

_They were let in by a sharp-eyed ‘doorman’ in black greatcoat and fedora, and immediately were met by two bruisers inside. Johnny and his men spread their arms, understanding the protocol._

_Patted down quickly and efficiently, they were relieved of their weapons. Phil D’Andrea appeared._

_“This way, gentlemen.”_

_As Johnny, Red, and Homer followed the shorter man, Johnny asked quietly, “What’s this all about, Phil?”_

_“Just business, Johnny.”_

_Johnny put a hand on Phil’s arm. “We both know it’s more than that.”_

_Phil looked at Johnny. “He’s fine for now.”_

_“For now.”_

_Phil nodded, not bothering to add any more. Johnny knew the score._

_They went up the stairs, followed by another set of guards. Johnny understood vigilance, but this was like fuckin’ Fort Knox._

_They reached the second floor, walked down the hallway, and Phil knocked on the door._

_“Come in.”_

_Phil opened the door and ushered Johnny, Red, and Homer inside, following them and closing the door. The guards remained outside._

_Frank Nitti sat at the head of the table, dressed in a sharp dark-blue pinstriped suit and light-blue silk tie._

_“Have a seat.” He waved his hand._

_Johnny pulled out a chair halfway down the table and Red and Homer stood against the wall, wary eyes on Nitti and Phil, the latter sitting on Frank’s left._

_“So, would you like something to drink? My _vino_ is the best in the city.”_

_“Thank you, Mr. Nitti, but I’m more interested in getting down to business,” Johnny said smoothly._

_“All right then.” Nitti pushed a folded blueprint across the table at John. “There’s the bank I want you to hit.”_

_Johnny raised an eyebrow and unfolded it. “The State Street Bank!” He looked at Nitti. “Are you…?” He stopped himself. He doubted calling the Enforcer crazy would go over well. “I can’t rob a bank in the heart of Chicago!”_

_“Why, Mr. Dillinger, I thought you were fearless. The best bank robber of all time.” Nitti smiled, not a pleasant sight. “I thought you’d welcome a challenge.”_

_“I take risks with good odds, not impossible ones.” He pushed the blueprint away. “I want to see Agent Purvis.”_

_“Agent Purvis? Awful formal for your… _busone?”__

_Phil winced while Johnny frowned. He didn’t know what that word meant, but he’d find out. He struggled to keep his expression neutral going forward. Never give away too much when dealing with the Outfit, and especially not the guy who ran it as Al Capone’s stand-in._

_“You took a risk. The Feds’ll be out searching for him.”_

_“They won’t find him.”_

_“I want to see him.”_

_Nitti leaned back. “Pretty pushy for a nancy-boy.”_

_Johnny’s jaw tightened. He could feel the tension radiating off his friends behind him and hoped they kept cool heads._

_Nitti must have sensed their hostility. “What’s it feel like, having a light-in-the-loafers leaders, boys?”_

_Red spoke. “Johnny’s stuck by us, and we stick by him.”_

_“How loyal.”_

_Johnny smiled. “I got loyal friends.” He leaned forward. “I want to see Mel.”_

_“Sorry, John. He’s all tied up at the moment.” Nitti smirked._

_“I’m not going to do this job until I see him.”_

_Nitti’s eyes suddenly grew hard. “You’re gonna do this job, then you’ll get your pretty boy back. Otherwise the next package you get will have the finger that ring came off of, for starters.”_

_Johnny wanted to rip the smug bastard’s throat out. He was terrified for Mel but had to keep it together. His Sunshine was depending on him._

_Nitti jabbed a finger at the blueprint. “I’ll even be generous about the money. You can keep all you can grab. I want what’s in Safe Deposit Box Number 6.”_

_Johnny frowned. “That’s awfully risky. The boxes need to be opened with a key.”_

_“It’ll be unlocked.”_

_Johnny raised an eyebrow but said nothing._

_“What’s in the box?”_

_“All you need to know is that you’ll get the right one from the bank president.”_

_Johnny knew the whole thing was fishy, but he had very little choice in this mess._

__Hang on, Mel honey. I’m gonna get you out of this._ _

_“So, do we have a deal, Mr. Dillinger? The box for Pretty Boy Purvis?”_

_Johnny stood up and put the blueprint in his coat pocket._

_“I’ll deliver when I get the box, but I want Mel in exchange at the same time.” He pulled on his winter gloves. “In one piece.” As he turned away, he looked at Phil, who appeared unhappy._

_Johnny strode out the door, not bothering to wait for an escort this time. Red and Homer were right behind him._

_They were given their guns back at the front door and went out in the biting cold. Johnny hoped that Mel was warm, wherever he was._

_“Let’s go,” Red said, clapping a hand on his old friend’s shoulder._

_Red escorted Johnny to their car a few blocks away, Homer keeping watch behind them._

_Once in the car, Johnny’s fist came down on the dashboard. A half-choked sob escaped him as Red turned on the ignition, Homer in the backseat. Tears shimmered in Johnny’s eyes, and Red knew that he was holding himself together with spit and baling wire right now._

_After a few minutes, Johnny straightened up. “Let’s go. We got plannin’ to do.”_

_Red exchanged glances with Homer through the rearview mirror and eased the Buick into traffic. They drove off, away from _The Montmatre Club_._


	6. Bread And Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mel discovers that he’s in deeper trouble than he first suspected.

  
_“One of the worst things about being a hostage?_

_The boredom.”_   


  


**Aaron Breck**   
**American Millionaire**   
**Philanthropist**   
**1922 C.E.**

Mel’s frustration was growing. Except for trips to the bathroom while closely guarded, he was stuck chained to this bed.

The man with the mashed nose, Ricotti, would have been more than happy to hit Mel again if he protested too much at his kidnapping, so he kept silent.

The other man scared him. Maglioli was tall and stoop-shouldered, with a hideous scar above and below his eye and running jaggedly down his cheek. He liked to play with a stiletto, eying Mel with a malevolence that chilled his bones.

He tried to keep his frustration from boiling over. _Why_ had he been kidnapped? His captors refused to tell him anything.

It couldn’t be for ransom. Even though he came from a wealthy family, it didn’t make sense to kidnap him in Chicago and demand money from his family in South Carolina.

So, that left the Bureau. Did they really think that they could pressure Hoover by kidnapping him? The Director would do all he could to get him back, but he would never knuckle under to gangster demands, no matter how fond Hoover was of his prize agent.

Mel leaned back against the headboard with frustration. He had a pitcher of water on the nightstand but precious little food.

The door opened and Ricotti came in, shoving a plate with two pieces of bread at Mel.

“Is this it?”

“You expected a ten-course meal? You’ve got gall, Purvis. Think you’re so much better than us, doncha?”

Mel winced as he moved. The leg iron was rubbing his skin raw. His suggestion to put it on his other ankle had been ignored.

Well, at least the bed was comfortable. He’d gotten a good night’s sleep, figuring he was safe from getting bumped off at least for one night. He had no illusions about getting out of this alive. He might get lucky and be released, like the Karpis/Barker Gang had let Hamm and Bremer go, but all too often the kidnap victim ended up with a bullet in the head.

“You’re a stuck-up prig, Purvis.”

“Why? Because I might like something to eat and drink besides bread and water?” If the situation wasn’t so dangerous, he’d have laughed. He wondered if these Whiz Kids appreciated the irony of the menu. Somehow he doubted it. There had to be brains behind the operation.

“You’re pretty mouthy for a prancer.”

“Prancer?”

“Yeah, prancer ‘n’ dancer, mincing your way around.” Ricotti’s lip curled. “Guys like you make me sick. It’s unnatural. No real man would bang another man."

Mel went cold. How the hell did this Neanderthal know? He and John had been so careful!

“Ain’t ya got any self-respect? Fuck, baby-sittin’ a pansy ain’t my idea of an assignment worth my time.” 

Ricotti looked like he wanted to spit, but he turned and left the room instead.

Mel’s mind raced. If his kidnappers knew about him and John, did that mean his kidnapping wasn’t connected to the Bureau at all, but to his lover?

He felt sick at the thought. There might be honor among thieves, but not all the time. A rival gang with this knowledge could…and would…use it against Johnny.

He tugged hard on his chain, pain shooting up his leg.

He forced himself to calm down. He had to think of a way out of this, to save his own skin and to ease the pressure off Johnny, if what he suspected was true.

& & & & & &

Here was his chance.

Ricotti escorted Mel to the bathroom, gun in his back. Luckily the thug thought he wasn’t much of a threat and hadn’t restrained his hands.

Mel pretended to stumble, Ricotti reaching out to grab him. He attacked, knocking the gun aside and delivering a knee to the groin. Ricotti bellowed in pain as Mel took off.

He passed a sitting room and found the kitchen, grabbing the back door handle and yanking it open.

A heavy body crashed into him from behind and he yelled, struggling as his pursuer put him in a bear hug and lifted him off the floor.

Mel fought but was inexorably dragged back to the bedroom. He was flung on the bed and looked up, surprised to see Malgioli instead of Ricotti looming over him. The man’s ugly face was contorted into a sneer.

“You made a big mistake, pretty boy.” He grabbed Mel’s wrist. “I think it’s time to send another message in a box, and instead of a ring, the finger that goes with it.”

He took out his stiletto and pulled Mel’s hand toward him and the shining blade.

Shocked, Mel began to struggle.


	7. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny plans the most important bank job he’ll ever pull.

_“Loyalty is important in this business. It’ll help keep you from gettin’ killed.”_

  


**Walter Dietrich**   
**Bank Robber**   
**1931 C.E.**

Johnny stared down at the ring in his hand. It was a beautifully-crafted piece of jewelry, gold and solid and embedded with chips of sparkling jewels of blue, yellow, red, and green, the letters _University Of South Carolina_ embossed in stark relief, along with the graduation date.

His finger traced over the letters as he blinked back tears. It was a beautiful ring worthy of the son of a plantation owner, a cultured, educated man.

_A beautiful ring for a beautiful man._

Who’d had the misfortune of falling in love with John Dillinger.

John Dillinger, a man who’d gotten his GED in prison, who knew bathtub gin better than champagne, prison gruel rather than pheasant-under-glass, and who was more used to hardscrabble than luxury.

_Oh, Mel._

He closed his hand around the ring and bowed his head, brow touching his tightly-clenched fingers.

“Johnny?” Red’s voice was soft. The big man came into the kitchen and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“No.” He looked up at Red with shimmering eyes. “Where is he? What if he’s hurt? Nitti and the rest of those damned Sicilians despise what Mel and I…” He tightened his fist, the ring cutting into his palm.

Red squeezed his shoulder. “He’ll be all right. Your Mel has guts, Johnny, and is a smart cookie. He’ll find a way to get back to you.” He gave Johnny’s shoulder one final squeeze before removing his hand. “The boys are in the sitting room.”

Johnny nodded and Red left the kitchen.

& & & & & &

Red had never seen Johnny so shaken up. He knew that the situation wasn’t good, and Mel could end up dead. The Syndicate played for keeps.

As he entered the sitting room, his gaze immediately fell on Homer. What if his lover had been the one kidnapped? His stomach tightened at the thought, understanding Johnny’s fears.

It was a shame. He’d meant what he said: Mel wasn’t bad for a Fed. He was risking everything for Johnny, but he would never betray the man he loved.

He put a hand on Homer’s shoulder, the blond looking up at him with a smile.

It was in that moment that Red knew whatever play Johnny made, he would back it.

& & & & & &

Johnny was still sitting at the kitchen table, the metal of the ring cold against his skin. He had thought of watching _The Montmatre Club_ to tail anyone to where they were holding Mel, but had nixed that idea when he realized they’d be spotted, and there was no guarantee anyone would go to the hide-out.

No, right now his only hope was to cooperate.

He opened his fist and carefully put the ring on the ring finger of his left hand.

Everyone was gathered in the sitting room: Red, Homer, Pete, Charles and Eddie. They were smoking and talking quietly amongst themselves when Johnny entered the room.

“Okay, fellas, you know the deal. The Outfit has Mel. They want me to rob the State Street Bank here in Chicago. Now, it’s a helluva risk, bigger than our usual jobs. If you don’t want to go, I won’t think less of you, that’s for sure.”

Eddie blew out a ring of smoke. “What if we all say no?”

“Then I’ll try to recruit some of the local yeggs. They’ll jump at the chance to go big-time.”

_“’Never work with anyone you don’t know.’”_

Johnny smiled slightly. “Yeah, but the stakes are high, at least for me.” He rubbed his face, light glinting off the ring. “Look, I understand if you don’t come along. Mel is my business.”

The gang exchanged looks, then Eddie spoke again.

“They way we see it, Johnny, you’ve always stuck by us, so we’ll stick by you. ‘Sides, we don’t take kindly to the Syndicate puttin’ the screws on ya. We’ve never crossed them before, always respected ‘em, and now they’ve pulled this. That don’t set well with us.” He took a drag from his Lucky Strike. “Agent Purvis ain’t bad…for a Fed.”

A slow smile crossed Johnny’s face. “Okay.” He held out his hand and Red placed the blueprint in it. Johnny spread it out on the coffee table, and they began to plan.


	8. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mel’s frustration builds as he learns more about the danger

  
_“One of the other bad things about being a hostage?_

_The desperation.”_   


  


**Aaron Breck**   
**American Millionaire**   
**Philanthropist**   
**1922 C.E.**

“Lay off, Maglioli!”

Mel’s heart hammered in his chest as he felt the coldness of the stiletto on his finger. He was close enough to his attacker’s face to smell his garlic-laced breath.

For a terrible moment, time was frozen, then Maglioli released Mel’s hand, contempt curling his lip.

Mel snatched his hand back and looked around, eyes widening as he saw the newcomer. His stomach clenched.

Phil D’Andrea angrily motioned Maglioli over. “Don’t mutilate our hostage without orders,” he hissed. 

Maglioli played with his stiletto. “Whatever you say, Mr. D’Andrea.” He put the leg iron back on Mel, who bit back a wince as he glared defiantly, his head throbbing with a killer headache.

Phil waited for the thug to leave before coming into the room and closing the door behind him. He pulled the rocking chair over to the bed.

“Sorry about that, Agent Purvis.”

“This is a very dangerous game you’re playing, Mr. D’Andrea. You have kidnapped a Federal agent, suh.” Mel did his best to keep his voice steady and resisted the urge to rub his finger to make sure it was still there.

“Yes, well, you needn’t worry you about your situation.”

Mel’s eyes were weary. “We both know I can’t be permitted to stay alive after seeing your faces.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean? You know I will identify you.”

Phil crossed his legs and arms, sitting back. “Do you really think that you want to tell your boss that the reason you were taken was to put pressure on John Dillinger to do a little job for us?”

“Johnny? What are you pressuring him to do?” Mel asked fearfully.

Phil regarded him curiously. “You shouldn’t play poker, Agent Purvis. Your face is a dead giveway.”

Annoyed, Mel rubbed the skin above his raw ankle. He wished that he could slip his fingers in behind the leg iron, but it was too tight. “Why are you pressuring him?”

“I can’t give you details.”

The men sat in silence for a moment, music muffled behind the closed door. Someone had turned the radio on.

Mel said bitterly, “I suppose you disapprove of John and me, just like your minions here.”

Phil smirked. “I don’t care who you boink, Agent Purvis. I don’t have the parochial attitude of my employers.”

Mel eyed Phil warily, as if unable to believe him.

“If John does this thing for you, will you let me go?”

Phil nodded. “Like I said, you won’t talk. You never saw anyone’s faces, heard no names, and Mr. Hoover won’t have any reason to get jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah.” Phil smirked again. “We know about him and the Associate Director. We got pictures. We also know about him wantin’ to get in your pants.” At Mel’s blush, Phil laughed. “Even if you did blab, Hoover will shut you up. He’ll go after independents like Dillinger, but he’ll leave us alone. You watch. You’ll see.” 

Disturbed by the implications, Mel tried again. “What is John supposed to do for you?”

“Oh, well, what the hell? Rob the State Street Bank for us.”

“What!” Mel leaned forward. “That’s suicide! He can’t possibly succeed right here in Chicago! Every cop, corrupt or clean, will high-tail it down there like a backwoods Florence County sheriff with his bloodhounds a’bayin’ just to get John Dillinger!” Agitation thickened his Southern accent.

“He’s the best there is. If anyone can get this job done, it’ll be your man Johnny.”

Mel clamped down on his panic. He dare not show his hand. Phil D’andrea was too damned sharp.

“Why does the Syndicate want Johnny to rob a bank? You make a lot more money with your rackets than from a mere bank job.”

“We got our reasons. Now, Agent Purvis, you just take it easy and it’ll be all over soon. You’ll be back home with your Johnny before you know it.” Phil rose from the rocking chair. “Need anything?”

“A menu more varied than bread and water.”

Phil frowned. “Sorry ‘bout that. Ricotti!”

The gangster came in the room. “Yeah, Boss?”

“I want to talk to you and Maglioli.”

“Sure thing.” 

Phil said, “Try and relax, Agent Purvis. It shouldn’t be long now,” and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Mel yanked on the chain, desperation fueling his panic. He had to get out of here!

He had no illusions about getting out of this alive. Phil might believe that Nitti was going to let him go, but Mel wasn’t about to count on that.

And even if he was released, would he find his Johnny in custody, or worse, dead?

He put his aching head in his hands.


	9. The Sweet Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dillinger Gang robs a bank in the heart of Chicago.

_“The sweet taste of blood rushing through your veins makes the game worth playing.”_

  


**Alan O’Dare**   
**“Daredevil**   
**(An Autobiography)”**   
**1927 C.E.**

Johnny felt the old, familiar, adrenaline high rush through him as he strode up the bank steps, flanked by Charles and Pete. Homer took up his position outside while Red waited in the getaway car a block away.

The skies were overcast as the bank was minutes way from closing. Johnny preferred robbing banks either just after opening or right before closing. Mornings had people barely starting their routine, tellers still in the bustle of arrival and maybe a little sleepy-eyed, while closing had people’s minds on going home, distracted and thinking of their evening plans.

A gray Monday afternoon was even better. There were only a few customers in the bank. A door to the back opened and a radio announcer’s voice could be heard intoning, _“And the manhunt for Special Agent Melvin Purvis continues. No one has seen or heard from him since last Friday. Bureau of Investigation Director J. Edgar Hoover has vowed to track down Agent Purvis’ whereabouts, though it is feared he may be dead.”_ The door closed, cutting off the announcer.

 _Don’t worry, honey, you’re gonna be just fine. I’ll see to that._

Johnny touched Mel’s ring that he wore beneath his glove.

This was no run-of-the-mill bank job. He was doing this for his man, and he was determined to make this the best job he’d ever pulled.

“Hands up!” Pete barked. 

Everyone’s hands shot up, and Johnny leaped over a counter, exhilaration in every movement. He grabbed the bank president. “Let’s play a game, Mr. President. It’s called Spin-The-Dial.”

The middle-aged banker didn’t put up a fight. By now any banker worth his salt knew the drill. He unlocked the gate and then the vault.

Meanwhile, Charles was grabbing sackfuls of money from the tellers while Pete kept an eye on the customers and tellers.

The banker filled several sacks of cash, and Johnny said, “Get me what’s in Deposit Box Number 6.”

The president looked at Johnny and nodded. He opened the box and brought out a smaller box.

“It’s in here.”

Johnny took the box, treating it with care. There was no way in hell he was going to risk dropping this, but he had no time to take a look. Quickly he placed it in a bag with the cash and hustled the president out to the lobby.

Charles and Pete had the bags and hostages, and they marched outside where Homer was holding off cops with a hostage of his own and Red was waiting in the car right in front of the bank. 

Cars screeched down the street, disgorging more cops and agents. Johnny’s pulse was steady as he directed his men in their well-practiced choreography.

Bullets began to fly, Johnny and his men firing back. The hostages were pushed up on the running boards of the car and Red took off, Johnny alive with excitement, worry dancing around the edges of his mind.

The car barreled down State Street and swerved down a side street. Red had studied the ‘git’ (getaway map) well. If their luck held out, they should get away scot-free. 

_Hang on just a little while longer, Mel honey._

It began to rain as the Ford roared off through the streets of Chicago.

& & & & & &

In the room above _The Montmatre Club_ , Phil was working on some papers he’d spread out on the conference table, music from the radio in the sitting room across the hall drifting in.

_“We interrupt this program to bring you news of a daring robbery of the State Street Bank right here in Chicago by John Dillinger and his gang.”_

Phil put his pencil down and stood up, walking into the sitting room. Frank Nitti was sitting in his favorite chair by the radio, smiling as he smoked a cigar.

“Nancy-boy might have questionable taste in bedpartners, but he sure as hell is the best when it comes to knockin’ off banks.”

“Yes, Frank.”

_“The Dillinger Gang escaped and disappeared after a well-choreographed robbery and getaway. J. Edgar Hoover of the bureau of Investigation vows to bring in Public Enemy Number One.”_

“Ha, let that swaggering queer try. He won’t catch a yegg as sharp as Dillinger.”

“So were and when do we make the exchange?”

“Exchange?” Nitti puffed out a ring of smoke. “What exchange?”

“What Dillinger got for us in exchange for Purvis.”

Nitti snorted. “I’m only interested in what was in the safe deposit box. I’ll be sendin’ word for Pretty Boy to be taken care of.”

“Frank, is it wise to double-cross Dillinger?”

“What’s he gonna do about it? If he kicks up a fuss everyone’ll learn he’s been sleeping with that fuckin’ Reb, and his gangster bonafides’ll be all shot to hell.” 

“Frank, one of the reasons we’ve got good relations with the yeggs is keepin’ our word. You double-cross Dillinger and we’ll have no end of trouble.”

“Fuck Dillinger. He’s too damned cocky for my taste. Take him down a peg and the mad dogs like Nelson will sit up and take notice.”

“The Feds won’t like one of their own bein’ bumped off.”

“The Feds are screw-ups. They can’t get out of their own way. ‘Sides, what’s one less _busone_ in the world?”

Phil stared at Nitti for a moment, then returned to the conference room, staring off into space for a long time before going back to his paperwork.


	10. Sainted Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny discovers what’s in the safe deposit box.

_“The saints hold the key.”_

  


**Sister Anthony Theresa**   
**1867 C.E.**

Johnny handed over the bag of cash to be divvied up, and Homer brought it to Eddie, who used the dining room table to spread it out. Charles and Pete took seats around the table to help.

Johnny was interested in the money for practical reasons, but the box he carried into the kitchen was his main concern.

Red cleared the table of the spread-out newspaper that had been left there, Johnny carefully putting the box on the table. Red switched the kitchen light on. It had started raining, and it was dark in late afternoon. 

He opened it, and both men were surprised at what was nestled in tissue paper. Johnny lifted it out and set it on the table.

It was a statue. Saint Theresa smiled serenely, her nun’s habit painted in brown and cream tones, the pain chipping off. She held a small wooden cross with red roses entwined around it. A rosary hung from her belt.

“Never thought ol’ Frank would be so religious,” Johnny said. Rain patted on the roof as the storm increased.

“You know the Sicilians. Very religious when they aren’t cutting people’s throats.”

Johnny chuckled, running his finger over the statue. “This doesn’t look valuable. And Nitti ain’t the sentimental type.”

“Yeah, well, the important thing is to get this to Nitti, right, and who the hell cares what he does with it? We got our money and you’ll get your Mel.”

Johnny twisted Mel’s ring around on his finger. “Right.” He stared at the ring while the rain drummed on the roof. “I found out what a busone is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Johnny took a deep breath. “It means a homosexual man who’s the passive recipient. In other words, he likes it up the…”

“I know what the other words are.” 

Johnny’s voice was steady. Too steady. “Nitti probably thinks that Mel is the only one who likes it that way.”

“Probably.”

“That would…he’d be even more contemptuous of Mel than me. He’d…”

“Hey, don’t borrow trouble, Johnny.” Red put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “Want some coffee?”

“Yeah.” Johnny took a deep breath. “Sounds good.” The wall phone rang. “I’ll get it. It’s probably Phil with instructions.”

Red busied himself with the coffeepot, Johnny talking to Phil.

Homer wandered in. “Great, coffee! We could use some out there. Hey, what’s this?” He picked up the statue. 

Red and Johnny turned around simultaneously and said, “Be careful with that!”

Startled, Homer dropped the statue onto the table.

“Homer!” Red hurried over to the table while Johnny hung up the phone and gently picked up the statue.

“I’m sorry.” Homer looked guilty as Johnny frantically looked the statue over.

“Well, at least if it’s chipped, it won’t be noticeable,” Red said.

“Yeah, it looks all right…” Johnny grimaced as the bottom came off in his hands. "Damnit!”

In the next second something fell out of the statue and clattered to the table.

Three pairs of eyes widened.

A sapphire the size of a robin’s egg glittered in the light from the ceiling fixture.


	11. The Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exchange takes place…or does it?

_“Remember what I said about having eyes in the back of your head when dealing with the Syndicate? Double and triple that when it comes to something valuable.”_

  


**“Irish Eddie” O’Coyle**   
**Reputed Gangster**   
**1922 C.E.**

Mel was beside himself. Time was running out.

He yanked irritably on the chain that kept him tethered to the bed as he watched raindrops slide down the bedroom window. Bathroom trips were fewer now after his attempted escape, and even then he was watched like a hawk.

Phil D’Andrea had assured him that he’d be let go, but he didn’t trust the Syndicate. They had a code, but not all were honorable men.

He was worried sick about Johnny. What if after he successfully pulled off the bank job, the Enforcer Nitti had him killed? Nitti didn’t like the heat that men like Johnny and Karpis and Campbell brought. What if it was too tempting to get rid of Johnny?

Maglioli kept looking at him with predatory hunger every time he came into the room, eager to carve him up. He doubted that the psychotic would be quick about it.

Well, he _had_ to get out of here, there was just nothing for it.

He would not let Johnny die because of him!

& & & & & &

Johnny strolled into the conference room above The Montmatre. Red and Homer were with him, and Charles, Eddie, and Pete were in a car parked a few blocks away.

“You do good work, Mr. Dillinger,” Nitti said. “In-and-out, smooth as you please.”

Phil also seemed pleased. 

“I am the best.” Johnny pulled off his gloves.

“So, you have the box?”

“Yes.” Johnny held out his hand, Mel’s ring winking in the gray light streaming in through the window. Red put the box in his hand. It was still raining, the sound of the storm steady on the roof. “Where’s Agent Purvis?”

“He’ll be at this address.” Nitti handed over a slip of paper. “Now, the box.”

Johnny handed it over. “See ya down the road, Mr. Nitti.” He sauntered out, Red and Homer following him.

As soon as the door closed behind Johnny, Nitti grinned. “Give Ricotti a call. Tell ‘im to let the Stiletto do his work.”

Phil blanched. “Frank, I told Purvis we’d let him go.”

“So?” Cop should know better than to trust…”

“…our word?”

Nitti glared at Phil. “Make the call.”

Phil didn’t move for a minute, then rose from his chair and went out to the sitting room and picked up the phone, staring at it for another minute, then began dialing.

& & & & & &

Johnny opened the door to 221 Pine Street, grin at the ready despite being wet from the steady rain. His gang was spread out around the house, Red and Homer right behind him.

“Mel! Mel, it’s Johnny, honey! It’s gonna be all right!”

Silence.

The front room was dark, and so was the hall. Johnny’s gut clenched as raindrops dripped off his fedora onto the floor. Would he find Mel’s dead body in this mausoleum?

“I don’t like the look of this,” he muttered.

Red silently agreed.

They searched the entire house.

Empty.

“Sonafabitch.”

“Yeah,” Red agreed. “You were right, Johnny. Nitti gave us the ol’ double-cross.”

Johnny fumed, fear bubbling up in his heart.

& & & & & &

Mel jumped as the bedroom door slammed open. Ricotti was behind Maglioli, a smug look on his face.

“My colleague will help you leave us, Mr. Purvis.”

Ricotti turned and left.

Mel’s nerves screamed as the assassin approached the bed, a sadistic grin on his scarred face. He took out his stiletto and bounced it from hand-to-hand expertly.

Mel tensed as he prepared for the attack.

& & & & & &

Nitti caressed the smooth contours of the statue. Chipped and peeling, she was still beautiful.

He turned her upside-down and opened the base. Smirking he turned her right-side-up again and shook, his hand ready to catch his prize.

Nothing.

He shook harder.

Still nothing.

Frank Nitti cursed in three languages as he howled for Phil.


	12. "My Jewel"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny lays down the law to Frank Nitti.

  
_Jewels of great price_   
_Must always be_   
_Protected._   


**Mrs. John (Sarah) Carrington**   
**“The Sapphire Sparkles”**   
**1906 C.E.**

“Now what?” Homer asked.

“We head back to _The Montmatre.”_ Johnny checked his tommygun.

“No,” Red said.

“What?” Johnny jerked his head up to stare at his friend.

“We don’t go back into the lion’s den.”

“We can’t afford to wait! We need to make sure Nitti countermands any order to kill Mel…if it isn’t already too late!” Johnny’s hand shook as he checked his pistol next.

“I know.” Red put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “We call.” 

Johnny looked at him, frantic, then nodded.

& & & & & &

Mel could read his death in the stiletto-wielding thug’s eyes. His gut clenched as he knew he didn’t have a prayer against such a wily attacker, especially while chained to the bed.

He regretted dying like this, painfully and alone, and had hoped for more time with Johnny, but they’d always known their time together could end quickly and violently.

Mel set his jaw grimly. If he was going to die, he was going to go out in a way that would make Johnny proud.

Maglioli thrust forward with the stiletto.

& & & & & &

Phil hung up the phone and hurried into the conference room. “What the hell’s the matter…?” His voice trailed off as he saw the open statue and Frank clenching and unclenching his empty hand.

“That dirty sonafabitch double-crossed me!” Nitti snarled.

Phil wisely didn’t point out that Frank shouldn’t talk about double-crosses when the phone rang. He quickly went to answer it.

“Yeah?”

_“Hey, Phil.”_

“Johnny?”

_“That’s right. Tell Nitti that I’ve got his pretty bauble. He gets it when I get my pretty Mel, and not one second before.”_

Phil blew out his breath. “Hold on.” Squaring his shoulders, he returned to Frank and relayed Johnny’s demand.

“That…that…!” Nitti sputtered. “All right, tell him he’ll get his catamite back.”

“Oh, fuck!” Phil ran back to the phone. “It’s a deal, Johnny. Call back in ten minutes for details!” He hung up and quickly dialed the hide-out. “Ricotti, don’t go through with your orders! We need Purvis alive!” Phil’s fingers ached as he tightened them around the handset. If Purvis was already dead…he could hear shouts in the background, then the sound of the handset being picked up.

_“It’s okay, Mr. D’Andrea. I called off Magioli, though it was rough goin’ there for a minute. Once that bastard smells blood, he’s almost impossible to stop.”_

“Good. He didn’t cut Purvis’ face?”

_“Nah.”_

Phil sighed in relief. All he needed was a furious Dillinger ranting about his pretty boy not being so pretty anymore. “Good. Get ready to move our guest. I’ll call with instructions.”

_“Yes, sir.”_

Phil hung up the handset. Damn, that had been close!

Now all he had to do was wait for Dillinger’s call. He knew that it had been bad business to order Purvis bumped off. Double-crossing a man like Dillinger wasn’t smart. Figures he’d find the Sapphire and decide to use it when he anticipated a double-cross. 

He went to the conference room to work out the details with Frank.

& & & & & &

The phone rang exactly ten minutes after the last call by Dillinger. Phil picked it up.

_“Okay, Phil, no more jerkin’ me around. I want Mel.”_

“You’ll get him. Come to the club…”

_“No. No more meetin’ on your territory. Neutral site this time.”_

Phil huffed but knew not to push it. “All right, where?”

_“351 Delancey Street. And, Phil, tell your boss no double-crosses this time. I want my Mel back as sparkly and pretty as this beautiful jewel, and I want him in one piece.”_

“Okay, okay. When’s the exchange?”

_“Five o’clock tonight. Don’t be late.”_

The line went dead.

& & & & & &

Mel lay on the bed, listening to the rain drumming on the roof. He held his arm as he tried to slow his breathing, blood seeping through his fingers.

He gritted his teeth against the pain. He’d fought Maglioli the best he could, but the maniac had gotten a good slice of his left bicep and would have carved him up before cutting his throat.

By some miracle Ricotti had come in, yelling for Maglioli to stop, but the assassin’s bloodlust was up. Only a lucky punch in Maglioli’s kidneys had saved Mel. 

He was weak from hunger. He hadn’t even gotten bread for the last 24 hours.

Something was up. Why give orders to kill him, and then rescind them only moments later? Unless Maglioli was an out-of-control rogue.

Mel hoped that he would see the light of day…and Johnny…after all.

& & & & & &

Johnny checked every gun, then double-checked them. The Sapphire was safe in his coat pocket.

“If that’s the Cibola Sapphire…” Red said.

“I know.”

“I don’t fancy hanging on to a jewel that’s supposed to be cursed.”

Johnny laughed. “Your Celtic blood is showing, my friend.”

Red grimaced. “So? It’s a gorgeous rock, Johnny, but it’s as lethal as the curse on King Tut’s tomb.”

“You know, I’ve seen pictures of that Egyptian exhibit. How do you think Mel would look done up in kohl around those pretty eyes of his?”

“Johnny…”

“No one prettier than my Mel, Red. Tall and elegant and graceful, big ol’ liquid-dark eyes and long, elegant fingers, and he ought to smile more, y’know, because he’s so damned beautiful when he does…” 

Red gently put a hand on his friend’s arm to stop his rambling. Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, his hand trembling slightly as he buttoned his greatcoat. “Let’s go make the exchange.” He smiled his usual confident smile, albeit a trifle shakily. “I’d say my jewel is the more precious of the two.” 

“Can’t argue with that.”

Johnny and his gang left their safehouse on a mission to get back one of their own.


	13. Jewel Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second exchange takes place.

_“Sapphires are a boy’s best friend.”_

  


**Stone Charles**   
**Actor**   
**1934 C.E.**

The door to his prison opened and Mel almost didn’t care. The blood loss had weakened him even further. He had nearly fallen asleep to the sound of the rain drumming on the roof.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to sit up. If another battle was coming, he’d face it.

Ricotti sneered. “You’re leavin’ our hospitality, Pretty Boy.” At Mel’s skeptical look, the gangster laughed. “Seems your squeeze is demandin’ an exchange. Man, you must be somethin’ in bed. Personally, I can’t see it.”

Mel bit back a retort. Fuck this guy and his prejudices. He had a chance to get out of this alive. 

He adjusted the tourniquet on his arm. Torn from his shirt, it had thankfully stopped the bleeding. He just had to hang on a little longer.

_I’m coming back to you, Johnny._

& & & & & &

Johnny appeared perfectly calm as he waited in the house, but Red could tell the signs of his friend’s stress: the grim line of his mouth, the rigid set of his shoulders and jaw, the reflexive clenching and unclenching of the gloved hand that wore Mel’s ring.

They were all dressed in their greatcoats and fedoras, guns at the ready. Red had set everyone in strategic spots as he stood by Johnny’s side.

Darkness was beginning to fall as a car drove up, parking at the side of the house and concealed by a fence from prying eyes.

Homer was at the window. “Damn, it looks like Nitti himself.”

Red cursed softly. The Enforcer showing up wasn’t good.

Johnny seemed unfazed. Situation normal.

Eddie opened the door, gun cradled in his arms.

Frank Nitti was flanked by Phil and followed by two bodyguards, dressed like the Dillinger Gang and carrying submachine guns.

“Come in, Mr. Nitti,” Eddie said.

Frank’s greatcoat was even more expensive than Johnny’s. He removed his suede gloves and said, “Let’s get down to business, Dillinger.”

“Would like nothin’ better, Frank.”

Nitti’s lip curled at the familiarity but he let it pass.

Johnny’s eyes were hard as he looked at the visitors. “Where’s Mel?” he asked bluntly. He was tired of pussyfooting around.

Nitti lifted a hand and one of the guards opened the door, two new guards bringing in a rain-bedraggled Mel, who was soaked to the skin.

Johnny was furious to see that he wore no hat or coat, and his arm was bandaged, blood seeping through the cloth. He growled, “You don’t take care of your hostages very well, Frank.”

“You’re lucky he got that much. We’re not overly fond of his…type.”

Johnny’s jaw worked as he glared at Nitti. _“I’m_ his type, too.”

“Let’s not get into that. Now, where’s my jewel?”

“I want mine.”

Johnny locked eyes with Mel, who was trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Mel’s lips quirked into a small smile, and Red saw Johnny’s shoulders relax minutely.

_Mel, you’re awfully good for our Johnny._

Nitti was at first a little perplexed at Johnny’s statement, then realized what it meant. Exasperated, he gestured and Mel was shoved toward his lover, who grabbed him and slipped one arm around his shivering shoulders, pulling him close as he kept his gun steady. He ignored the looks of disgust and amusement from Nitti’s men, Phil one of the latter.

“The Sapphire,” Nitti said, his tone indicating that his patience was growing thin.

Johnny handed his gun to Homer and reached into his pocket, producing the jewel.

Everyone’s eyes were drawn to the glittering gem.

Johnny smiled. “All yours, Frank.”

The mobster took the jewel and held it up to the light. Avarice gleamed in his eyes.

“Let’s go.” As Nitti turned, Johnny said, “Wait.” The Enforcer turned back with a scowl. “Don’t bother Mel again. He’s under my protection.” Beside him, Mel bored his angry gaze into his recent captors, standing tall and proud with Johnny’s arm around him. 

Nitti started back hard, then bit out, “Keep to your own business, Dillinger.” He turned and walked out, followed by his men. Phil glanced back at Mel and Johnny, a slight smile on his face, and he closed the door behind him.

As soon as the door closed, Johnny tossed Homer his gun and hugged Mel to him, raining kisses on his face and then kissing him properly on the mouth, their kiss desperate and relieved. Johnny’s men smiled or looked down at their shoes in embarrassment.

After the adrenaline rush of the confrontation left him, Mel felt light-headed, his combined hunger and blood loss finally getting the better of him. His shiver wasn’t just from the cold or his wet clothes.

“Good to have you back, Sunshine,” Johnny said as he nuzzled Mel’s cheek.

“Glad to be back, love.” He smiled. “Careful, I need a shave.”

“You’re coming home with me, darlin’, for a shave and hot bath and hot food.”

“Sounds like heaven.”

“Good to see you back, Mel,” Red said.

“Thank you, Red.”

Homer smiled and Mel smiled back. The others nodded and Eddie clapped Mel on the shoulder.

Johnny frowned. “What happened to your arm?”

“It’s fine. The bleeding stopped.”

“C’mon, let’s get you home.”

The gang went out to the cars, Charles, Pete and Eddie taking one, and Red, Homer, Johnny and Mel the other, Johnny’s arm still around his lover. Red slid behind the wheel, Homer next to him, and Johnny opened the rear door. He checked to see that the others were set, then saw Mel shivering. He took off his coat and put it around the Southerner, helping Mel into the Ford. 

“I’m all wet. Your coat…”

“Hush up,” Johnny said gently.

Once on their way Johnny wrapped his arms around Mel. “You’re still shaking,” he murmured.

“Just a little dizzy. Haven’t had much to eat lately.”

Johnny fished around in his coat pocket, anger blazing in him. Hell, even Alvin and the Barkers treated their hostages far better.

He triumphantly dug out a Hersey bar. “Here you go, sugar, dark and rich, just like you.”

Mel chuckled and took the candy, wolfing it down in seconds. 

“Red, stop at the drugstore,” Johnny said.

Red complied, and once they parked, Johnny said, “Homer, go get some more candy bars, some bottles of Coke, and I don’t think they sell moon pies up this far North, so’s if you see Hostess cupcakes, get some of those.” He handed the blond a couple of crisp bills. 

Homer got out of the car and trotted to the drugstore, shoes splashing in the puddles in the street and on the sidewalk.

“We’ll get you fixed up with some sugar, honey, and you can get some proper food at home: meat, potatoes, and vegetables.”

Mel nodded, the thought of food extremely welcome. He rested his head on Johnny’s shoulder.

When Homer returned, Mel ate the second chocolate bar, slower this time, and drank his Coke, the sweetness of both making him feel better.

Homer had bought enough for everyone and it was almost an impromptu party in the car.

As Red drove, Johnny drank his own Coke, arm still firmly around Mel.

It had been close, _too_ close, but he had his Mel back and would take care of him.


	14. Johnny's Jewel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny takes care of his Mel.

  
_When a jewel_   
_Of great price_  
 _Is found,_  
 _Hold on_  
 _To its_   
_Brilliance_  
 _All the days_  
 _Of your life._  


  


**Sarah Jean Selkirk**   
**“A Jewel Of Great Price”**   
**1906 C.E.**

Johnny helped Mel get out of his wet clothes, gasping as he saw the raw skin of his left ankle.

“Sweetheart, what’s that?”

“Oh, the leg iron rubbed it.”

“Damn.” Johnny’s eyes were stormy.

He helped Mel into the shower, getting him cleaned and warmed up, promising a nice, hot bath after supper, because he suspected that Mel would be sleepy afterwards. Once out of the shower, he helped his lover dress in fresh underwear, borrowed from him, and a nice, soft, fluffy robe after cleaning and binding his wounds, taking great care with the much-abused ankle. 

“C’mon, let’s get some hot food in you.” He gently kissed Mel on the temple, his lover sighing softly.

& & & & & &

Supper was a jovial affair, Johnny’s gang energized by their leader staring down Frank Nitti. Johnny might be a little odd with his sexual tastes (and some of the gang was completely unfazed), but he was still all man.

And Mel had gained respect, too. Anyone who could survive kidnapping by the cutthroat Sicilians had to have some moxie.

The meal was simple but filling: steak, baked potato with sour cream, and peas and carrots. Mel appreciated every bite and the apple cider, too.

When they were finished, the gang cleaned up while Johnny drew a bath, then helped Mel into the claw-foot tub. 

“Bubble bath?” Mel chuckled, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the edge of the tub.

“Nothing but the best for my honey.”

After a good soak, Mel climbed out of the tub with Johnny’s help.

As Johnny dried off his legs with a white, fluffy towel, Mel looked down at his lover’s bent head and swallowed, gently combing his fingers through soft, silky hair.

Johnny looked up, love shining in his amber eyes.

Mel’s hand shook. He’d nearly lost all this. They probably would never have found his body.

“Into bed you go, Sunshine.”

Mel gratefully sank down onto clean sheets. He watched as Johnny re-bandaged his arm and ankle.

“I feel a little guilty about not calling the Bureau.”

“You’ll call ‘em, but tonight, you’re mine.”

Mel smiled. It had a nice ring to it.

“What story am I going to give? I can’t very well say that the Syndicate took me hostage to force you to rob a bank for them. The inevitable question would be: why me?”

Johnny kissed his temple. “You worry too much, sugar. I’ll come up with somethin’. Let me sleep on it.”

Mel smiled. “All right, darlin’.”

Johnny touched Mel’s shoulder. “You weren’t hurt anywhere else?”

Mel shook his head.

“I’m so glad, Mel. Nitti pulled a double-cross on me. After I delivered the St. Theresa statue, he directed me to a house where you were supposed to be, but the house was empty, so I called him back.”

“You had the Sapphire.”

Johnny nodded as he sat on the edge of the bed. “He wasn’t very happy,” he smirked. “I found it by accident. Homer knocked the statue over and the jewel dropped out.”

“So that’s why Ricotti called off Maglioli.”

“Called him off?”

Mel nodded, looking down at his hands in his lap. “That thug’s specialty is carving people up with his stiletto.” He looked up with a wan smile. “I was afraid my body would never be found.”

Johnny went white. He reached with shaking fingers to touch the bandage on Mel’s arm.

“He started carving you up.” 

Mel nodded, feeling guilty. It was foolish, of course, but for some reason he felt like he was in the wrong.

Johnny suddenly drew him into a fierce hug, rubbing his back.

“You’re under my protection, love. I won’t let them hurt you ever again.”

Mel hugged back. “I know,” he whispered. His hand brushed against Johnny’s hand. “My ring!” 

Johnny smiled. “That’s right, Sunshine, I kept it on my finger while you were gone.” He looked a little shy. “I felt close to you while wearing it.” He took the ring off and put it on Mel’s finger. “Welcome home, Mel.”

Mel blinked rapidly and pulled Johnny close.

& & & & & &

When Red checked on them later, they were curled up around each other, sound asleep.

Johnny had his jewel of great price back.


End file.
